The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Father was taught to fence by the same fellow who taught the royal family. Fellow called Zaroff, a Russian.

He taught my Father to Olympic standard, with the idea of my Father taking part. But, Life is Life and, my lil Mother had become his wife. Then they got me. I had had spent many a sunny afternoon fencing during my early teens, in the back garden with my Dad, who taught me to fight rather well, midst the apple trees and, I can can still hear his voice as he had coached me, 'parry, parry, thrust...'

I had fought well, enjoying his lessons and picturing myself as Errol Flynn, using the apple trees as my avenue to avoid his strikes.

And, years passed, as they do and I'd found myself at college, studying catering. Then, stangely enough, life had taken a turn as it does and, it had transpired that the person in charge of the fencing class I went to was the head of my catering department.

I'd been driven in class, having almost given up smoking, to get as good as I could be. And, one evening, we had had fought, 'parry, parry, thrust' as the class had watched on; and, the red bobble at the end of the sword had come off, on impact with the head with his chest.

Everyone had been shocked and, I'd been surprised myself, at what had happened and stood back, mouth agape.

Months passed and, the head of the catering department had called me into his office, saying, “I know you can do more than you're doing.”

And, a private board of assessors had been called in.

The session had taken hours and been quite exhausting.

Awhile later I'd been called into his office and, after several minutes of chat, he'd been called out. And, there on his desk had been the report about me. Now, I can read quite well upside down, so I'd done so, being shocked at what I had read.

Supposedly, the report said that my potential iq was several marks higher than Einstein. That had done my head in, goodstyle.

He'd returned to the office and, I'd lisstened to his words, as if they were distant.

Back then, I had not been able to find validation in my own existence. I had always seemed to want to want something, 'extra'. And finally,everything had come together in my mind, as I thought on what I knew.

Shortly after, I'd found myself in a cubicle toilet, where I'd sat. Bending down, I'd opened my folder of knives.

Then I'd drawn the French knife across my right wrist.

The blood had flowed, as expected.

Yet, I had fainted at the sight of my blood.
When I had woken, I'd struggled to find the cubicle door, but had found it, with unsteady hands.

It had been my second breakdown, the first being on my eleven-plus.

Then, I'd walked toward the bus-stop and, my journey home, my wrist still sore from its wound.

The results of all I had learned had swirled in my head, as I had waited for the bus home.

'Potential?' the word had swirled in his head as he returned home.

Just, what did word potential mean?